


Held

by WithoutBringingMeDreams



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: M/M, Short One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-30
Updated: 2014-03-30
Packaged: 2018-01-17 14:19:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 530
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1390909
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WithoutBringingMeDreams/pseuds/WithoutBringingMeDreams
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>short fic slightly inspired by 4x11 spoilers</p>
            </blockquote>





	Held

Mickey slammed the door to Ian’s room so hard that it bounced back open again, and a few loose pencils toppled off the dresser.

Ian was still splayed out in bed—night shift hours gave him an odd sleep schedule. The sight of him lying there, leg outturned and one foot dangling over empty air, soothed a small amount of Mickey’s rage.

But only a small amount.

He’d stormed upstairs with his jacket and now he tore it off and chucked it at the floor with the same force he’d shown the door. “Fucking assholes.”

“Mickey?” Ian yawned and blinked up at him. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” Mickey ground out through clenched teeth. “Absofuckinglutely nothing. Bastards at the bar just think it’s so fucking hilarious to make their snide ass remarks.”

Ian scratched at his chin and leaned up on an elbow. “They’re still saying shit?”

“Why not? It’s fucking hilarious that I’m a fag, isn’t it?”

The sad little smile Ian gave in response to that didn’t do anything to improve Mickey’s mood. “Mick, you know they’re only doing that to get a rise out of you.”

Sure, Mickey knew that. Didn’t stop his blood from boiling. “Whatever. I didn’t sign up for this shit.”

Ian sighed, but his smile didn’t falter. He could smile through almost all of Mickey’s tirades, somehow both pissing Mickey off further, and making him want the stupid kid even more…like only Ian could find the light in the dark that usually surrounded his life.

“Come here,” Ian said.

Mickey crossed his arms. “What for?”

“I said, come here.”

Glaring, Mickey took a few steps forward. With Ian’s long limbs, he was able to grab Mickey easily and yank him down onto the bed.

“I’m not in the mood, Gallagher. Fuck off.”

But Ian didn’t listen, and instead wrapped both arms around Mickey and tried to pull him towards his chest.

“The fuck are you doing? Get off me.” Mickey stiffened and pulled back as much as he could…but Ian wasn’t letting him go.

Ian tightened his grip, in fact, and set his jaw defiantly. “Honestly, Mick, why you gotta fight me on everything? Every fucking step of the way. We gotta do this whole dance of you in denial and me waiting around, when it always turns out I was right in the end. _Always._ You ever gonna learn?”

Mickey blinked. His mouth flapped open and closed a few times, but no sounds emerged.

_God damn redheaded demon._

What choice was there? Mickey relaxed his body and let Ian pull him into his arms. Into a goddamn hug, with his head resting on Ian’s chest and Ian’s hands making slow, soothing strokes along his back.

As if acting on their own instinct, Mickey’s arms slowly tightened around Ian as well, clamping down on Ian’s warm skin. Now fully embraced, Mickey let out a shaky sigh.

“See?” Ian whispered into his hair. “Isn’t this better?”

“Fuck you,” Mickey mumbled against Ian’s chest, and squeezed him tighter.

‘Cause there was no way on earth he was ready to admit how fucking safe this made him feel… how wonderful it was to just be _held._


End file.
